


A Spoonful of Villainy

by 2pork



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Daehwi and Guanlin are one scene wonders, Fluff, Jihoon talks to animals, M/M, Thievery (of sorts), Woojin phases through walls, among other things, they're good kids really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2pork/pseuds/2pork
Summary: “It's okay. I’m not hurt.”Except he is. He could’ve been petting Hoon right now, rubbing his tummy, even teaching him tricks. Instead he’s stuck in this awkward conversation with a guy who almost caught him using his powers to abscond with a puppy.





	A Spoonful of Villainy

Another Saturday with barely any customers. Jihoon sighs as he plants an elbow on the counter and cradles his chin. He supposes he should be thankful that he gets paid to basically slack off in between checking the stocks and rearranging the displays, but there’s a niggling guilt at the back of his mind whenever he looks at the meager sales of the day.

“It’s the location, isn’t it?” he mumbles under his breath, tapping his fingers rhythmically on one thigh. The store is located, alongside houses and apartment buildings mostly, on a narrow street running parallel to the main thoroughfare. On weekdays, many students and office workers would slip into this street as a less crowded alternative on their way to work, school, or home. During his weekday afternoon shifts, Jihoon can stand by the display window, acting absorbed in the rearrangement of newer titles by the door, and more often than not, this is guaranteed to have a passerby coming in to ask about a book that they’re looking for.

On weekends however, there’s very little attraction to this street. No restaurants or cafes, no arcades or boutiques. If Jihoon is lucky, a resident from one of the apartment buildings would peek in to see if the shipment containing the next volume of a manga has arrived.

He wonders sometimes if he needs to worry more about his pay, but the owner, a kind-faced and mild-mannered lady pushing into her forties, would simply pat his head and tell him not to worry about a thing.

“You earn this store enough during the week, child,” she would say kindly. “Bring in any coursework you need to finish on the weekends, take long breaks, go home a little early. I don’t mind.”

But Jihoon does mind. He brings his laptop and works on projects, but he takes his usual breaks and always opens and closes the store exactly when he should. It would feel too much like taking advantage otherwise.

Still, the urge to do something to improve weekend sales doesn’t disappear, and today Jihoon continues to think about it. He shuts the screen of his laptop (still displaying a paused episode of _Hwarang_ ), stretches out the kinks on his back, and starts closing down the store in a subdued mood that matches the darkness outside.

While checking on the display window one last time, two burly men walk past, one of them holding onto a leash with a very energetic corgi bouncing from one end of the sidewalk to the other. Jihoon gasps, pressing his face against the window.

There used to be a cat, Gaeul, that he’d befriended outside the store some time ago. She used to come by everyday, as if waiting for him to leave work, and joins him on the way home, a silent guardian stalking next to his feet. It’s been a while since he’s seen her, though. One day she had simply stopped appearing next to the door. Remembering her made Jihoon feel a little lonely, and consequently a little more focused on the corgi.

He shouldn’t.

As if sensing the attention, the corgi turns back around and looks at the window where Jihoon is, tongue lolling out.

He _really_ shouldn’t.

The two men stop at the corner and seem to get into an increasingly aggressive argument. The dog stares up at them curiously, still constrained by the leash, but after a few minutes without any apparent change, it resumes sniffing around the area.

With speed that surprises even him, Jihoon stuffs the laptop in his backpack and exits the door to lock up from the outside, where he’s instantly spotted by the corgi if the way it’s now pulling against the leash is any indication. The man holding the leash tugs it back a few paces with a stern, “Hoon, heel! Stay.” _Hoon_ sits. “Good boy.”

Jihoon has gotten repeated warnings from, well, his entire family really, that he should use his power responsibly, but...

The corgi tries to turn his head around to face Jihoon, butt wiggling impatiently.

… it’s so _cute_.

Jihoon is just about to call out, when Hoon jumps to all fours, barking at something behind Jihoon. He barely registers the sound of shoes slapping onto the pavement when he’s suddenly shoved hard from behind and sprawls face first onto the sidewalk.

“Shit! I’m sorry, are you okay?”

A hand holds onto Jihoon’s elbow while an arm circles over his backpack until he’s gripped firmly around the stomach. Jihoon lets himself be pulled up with a pained grimace, face and arms stinging in several areas, but can only be grateful that falling on his front means there should be no damage to his laptop. He doesn’t have to look up very far to see who had bumped into him, thank god, but he’s surprised to note that the face looks very familiar.

The boy stares back at him, equally surprised, but with eyes alight in recognition. “Park Jihoon?”

“Um.” Jihoon blinks rapidly, not knowing how to respond to a situation in which he’s recognized right before he’d been about to commit what he’s pretty sure is a crime. The fact that he’s still very firmly in the other’s arms is also a bit distracting. “Yes, that's… me. You can let go now.”

The boy jumps back as if burned, hands raised in front of him. “S-sorry. My bad, really, also for bumping into you, that was also my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he babbles.

“It’s okay,” says Jihoon, eyes straying towards where the argument between the two men seems to have been resolved and Hoon is now happily bouncing away. “I’m not hurt.”

Except he is. He could’ve been petting Hoon right now, rubbing his tummy, even teaching him tricks. Instead he’s stuck in this awkward conversation with a guy who almost caught him using his powers to abscond with a puppy.

“So, uh.”

Jihoon looks at him curiously. “Yes?”

The boy, now that Jihoon is studying him more closely, is a little taller than him, with hair dyed red and a bit windswept, probably from running. He’s wearing black track pants and a loose black shirt, sweat beading up on his forehead and down his neck, chest still heaving a little, and his face is a vision of discomfort, especially under the stark lamplight. “Well,” he begins awkwardly, “I don’t know if you recognize me, but we take the same Social Science elective. I’m Park Woojin.”

Jihoon claps his hands together, lips forming into an o. “Yes! I was wondering where I’d seen you before. So it was Social Science…” He nods his head, remembering that he mostly keeps to himself in that class which is probably why Woojin hadn’t completely registered in his radar. “I’m surprised you know me, though? I don’t really talk to anyone there…”

“Oh, I… don’t really talk much too. But I memorized everyone’s names and seats. I remember you.” For a moment, it looks like Woojin’s cheeks darken, but Jihoon quickly dismisses it as a trick of the light.

“Then we’re kind of the same,” Jihoon says with a friendly smile, feeling more inclined to forgive in the face of Woojin’s supreme awkwardness. “Not the memorizing part, though. I think I’ll survive without knowing the rest of the class. Anyway, I guess I know _you_ now.”

Woojin stares at Jihoon with an unreadable expression, before it cracks slowly into a shy grin. “Yeah, guess so.”

 

_Hi! This is Jihoon. I know we only met, but do you want to sit together in class? - 10:23 P.M._

_ok. - 11:59 P.M._

 

The next day, Jihoon is jolted from his distracted musings about Hoon when a slightly condensed cup of iced americano is placed beside his laptop and a familiar figure slips into the seat beside him quietly. “What’s this?” he asks, taking the cup and rolling the ice around with the straw.

Woojin shrugs, looking away. “Sorry for yesterday,” he explains softly. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

“Americano is fine,” Jihoon says automatically. “I mean, you really didn’t have to! It’s not like I got hurt.” The next second, he’s under Woojin’s scrutinizing gaze, and he holds back a flinch when Woojin reaches up to brush a thumb near the grazed skin on his forehead. Those sharp eyes meet his and he amends, “It’s not like I got hurt _too_ much.”

Woojin pats his forehead lightly before retreating to his own space with a guilt-ridden frown. “I still feel bad about it. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I was paying attention.”

Jihoon shakes his head at him. “You’re gonna be stubborn about this, aren’t you?” He narrows his eyes accusingly, to which Woojin shrugs again. He takes the coffee and holds it out to Woojin, shaking it so that some of the water droplets sprinkles onto Woojin’s face and shirt. “There! You’ve been blessed by the coffee of forgiveness! _I forgive you,_ ” he says, leaning closer until they’re almost nose to nose. “Okay?”

Woojin grunts an affirmative and pushes Jihoon back to his seat, just as the professor enters the room.

 

Woojin hasn’t had a good and early start in the morning for a while now, what with his roommate Daehwi being a nightmare to hurry out of the shower, so although it pains him to admit, he has used his power to phase through the door of the classroom invisibly and sneak into his back row seat right before he gets called for attendance. Though this often causes his seatmates to get the shock of their lives finding him where he definitely wasn’t seconds ago, he’s thankful that they seem to be constantly brushing it off as their own negligence.

If they only knew.

He tries not to use it more than that though, he really does. Except sometimes when he loses himself in hours of coursework, he comes to at 11PM with an inexplicable craving for chips and soda, and the only store near their slightly run-down dorm closes at 9. He may have gotten away with blaming it on sleep deprivation the first couple of times, but when he keeps strolling out of the dorms, pen and paper in his pocket, and straight into the store without using the entrance, that’s a little hard to excuse.

Woojin gets the chips and soda he needs, throwing in a chocolate bar for mental power, and lists everything down on the paper he brought, adding in the prices per item in a different column, and underlines the total amount twice at the bottom of the sheet. He leaves the paper and money at the counter and rushes back to the dorm room, feeling significantly more alert.

On days like today, running late to Social Science class and sliding into one of the seats in the back as silently as he can manage, Woojin wonders what Jihoon would think about it. He sees the fluffy brown head closer to the front, clicking through slides on his laptop, with the glaringly empty space beside him that they’ve both come to think of as Woojin’s seat. He wonders, as the professor calls his name and he responds, as Jihoon whips around wide-eyed, confused that Woojin is in class but isn’t sitting next to him, if he’ll be able to tell Jihoon about his power and what he does with it at all. Among other things.

 

Jihoon is sitting on a bench outside during a short break between classes, eating a sandwich he’d bought last night from the convenience store. Beside him is an opened bag of birdseed and no space at all for a Park Woojin.

“Jihoon.”

Jihoon harrumphs and turns his nose up, not forgetting to throw the feed down to the pigeons flocking near his shoes.

In the flurry of feathers, coos and clucks, Woojin tries to sit next to him, but Jihoon shouts in outrage, shooing him away from the bench. “What the fuck, Jihoon?” he laughs, bewildered.

Turning a little red at his own actions, Jihoon grumbles, “You didn’t sit next to me in class. You won’t visit me at the bookstore on Saturdays, and you don’t want to sit with me even now.”

“I clearly do,” says Woojin, placid even in the face of the ire directed at him. In the two months that they’ve gotten to know each other, it looks like Woojin has somehow decided Jihoon is worth the dramatics he needs to put up with almost daily.

“Then explain your actions in class earlier! Why were you all the way in the back?”

“Because I was late and it’s easier to sneak into a seat there,” answers Woojin reasonably. “And I can’t visit you on Saturdays because I have dance practice, you know that.”

Jihoon frowns but nods. That makes sense, but… doesn’t the professor lock the door as soon as he comes in? Maybe Woojin has a friend in the back row who’s willing to risk opening the door for him? But didn’t Woojin say he didn’t talk to anyone in the class? Did he make friends recently without Jihoon knowing?

Okay, _stop_ , Jihoon tells himself. It’s not like he has any right to police Woojin’s friendships. Shouldn’t he be more supportive? Actively encouraging, even? In any case, Woojin obviously has friends in that dance club of his already. He probably doesn’t need encouragement at this point.

“Jihoon? There’s a bird nesting on your head.”

Blinking into awareness, Jihoon stretches a hand up to stroke the pigeon’s head gently. “It’s okay. She’s my friend,” he says to Woojin, and pats the space next to him. “Come on then. I’ll take your word for it this time.”

 

On a Saturday that promised to be much like any other Saturday, Jihoon is just about to nod off to an old historical movie when the bells above the door jangled to signal a customer.

A thin boy who looks younger than Jihoon wanders in, examining the shelves as he goes, before strolling up to the counter with a smile. “Hello!” he greets cheerfully.

Jihoon pastes on his best customer service smile, though he’s tempted to give him a more sincere one. “Hi! How can I help you?”

“Are you, by any chance,” the boy pauses, and it sounds as if even his silence has a meaning Jihoon doesn’t understand, “Park Jihoon?”

“I… am?” Jihoon tilts his head, confused. He looks too young to be in Jihoon’s year in university, and even if he’s some kind of grade-skipping genius, Jihoon still doesn’t recognize this boy from any of his classes or activities.

“I see!” The boy gives him an approving smile (first of all, why?) and a thumbs up. “I’m Lee Daehwi, Woojin-hyung’s roommate. He said that there was a bookstore on this street that might have what I needed…”

Oh.

So Woojin recommended the bookstore.

Jihoon doesn’t notice the blush rising to his cheeks, until Daehwi peers at him with concern, asking, “Hey, are you feeling okay? You’re a little flushed.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Jihoon rushes to reassure, laughing. “I’m just a little flustered since we almost never get customers on a Saturday.”

 

_Did your roommate really need a book?_

_Or did you send him here because I kept bugging you to visit?_

_Tell me fast or risk death. - 2:12 P.M._

_both lol. - 2:13 P.M._

_Thanks._

_Store appreciates too. - 2:47 P.M._

 

Weeks pass. Hoon and his burly family keep to their route in front of the bookstore, to Jihoon’s intense happiness. On top of that, more and more people who know Woojin have been coming in to the bookstore every Saturday, and Jihoon is starting to suspect that Woojin has an endless supply of friends. It can’t be that they’re all members of his dance club, can it?

It seems like the more he gets to know Woojin, the further his initial shy and awkward impression retreats to the back of Jihoon’s memory. Although it’s also possible that this is simply Woojin opening up to him.

The thing is, lately, Woojin has been a bit… suave? No, that’s not right, considering Woojin found the need to barrel roll until he reached Jihoon’s row in the classroom just yesterday. (A great laugh, which he’d needed at the time.) It’s more that he gives off this vibe, as if he’s capable of breezing through everything to get what he wants, but he’s holding himself back.

“Hyung?” Guanlin, a tenant from one of the apartment buildings on this street, is waving a hand in front of Jihoon’s face, frowning. “You zoned out.”

Jihoon grins at him with a shrug. “It happens. So you found the new arrival,” he says, gesturing towards the manga in Guanlin’s hand. “Should I ring that up for you?”

“Please. Thank you, hyung.” Guanlin observes unhappily, placing the appropriate amount within Jihoon’s reach, as Jihoon scans the barcode and packs away his purchase. “You’re different today, hyung.”

Jihoon hums and hands over the bag. “What do you mean?”

“You’re kind of… it seems like you’re not really here. Is there something that you’re worried about?”

Guanlin’s eyes, huge and honest, bore into Jihoon like twin rays of worry. He holds out a slim-fingered hand to brush back Jihoon’s bangs, feeling his temperature, and suddenly it takes him back to meeting Woojin for the second time, the coffee and Woojin’s thumb sweeping lightly near the abraded skin on his forehead. The feeling is different, he notes with gradually reddening cheeks as he gently bats Guanlin’s hand away. He waves Guanlin out the door, mustering up every ounce of fondness as he smiles after him.

It was different.

He thinks of Woojin, and the heightened color on his face doesn’t fade for a long time.

 

As Jihoon locks up the store, a yawn bursting out of his lips, he feels a brush of something soft against his legs, and he looks down to find an orange tabby rubbing her head against his shoe.

“Gaeul, you’re back!” he exclaims happily, bending down to pick her up. She meows at him, blinking large yellow eyes, and, to his surprise, is joined by a chorus of tiny meows from a short distance away. “Gaeul, I… have grandkittens…?”

 

It’s one thing, walking out of a dark and obviously closed convenience store in the middle of the night with a suspiciously full plastic bag, it’s another to walk out of said store with said bag to find Park Jihoon speed walking on the other side of the street, followed by a troupe of one cat and four kittens.

As Woojin continues to stare at him, Jihoon’s eyes meet his coincidentally. Jihoon freezes for a few seconds and then says something Woojin couldn’t get—to the cat?—and proceeds to run away, with the cat and kittens giving chase.

What on earth?

 

_park jihoon. - 5:06 P.M._

_park. - 8:37 A.M._

_jihoon. - 3:15 P.M._

 

It’s hard to get a hold of Jihoon after that.

One moment, they’re sitting together in awkward silence, seconds after the professor dismisses their Social Science class, and in the next second a pigeon swoops into the room straight into Woojin’s face as Jihoon takes the opportunity to grab his backpack and fly out of the door.

They meet in the hallways, and just as Woojin approaches him (to ask why he’s being avoided? To apologize for something he did?), a kitten makes a running dash right in front of his feet and he trips. Jihoon comes to collect the kitten and mutters an apology before hurriedly brushing past.

Woojin even tries to fetch Jihoon from work once, when the orange tabby he’d seen before rises from its perch on the display window’s ledge, hops down to the pavement and takes menacing steps, the fur on its back rising in agitation. Woojin backs off, says, “I just wanted to talk,” and mentally slaps himself when he realizes he just tried to make excuses to a cat.

This happens for an entire week, and Woojin realizes with startling clarity just how deeply Jihoon had managed to embed himself into his life. The texts, chatting quietly during class, meeting up during the day, and eating together.

But he doesn’t realize exactly how much he’s missing until he makes another attempt to visit Jihoon at the end of his Saturday shift, and he finds Jihoon pressed against the wall of an alley some distance away from the bookstore, a dog in his arms, staring with dread in another direction.

“Jihoon?” he calls, taking a step back when Jihoon gasps and turns to him fearfully. “What’s wrong?”

And then there’s a shout from the other end of the alley and two huge men stalk towards Jihoon.

“This way!” Woojin grabs Jihoon’s wrist and pulls him into the street, dog and all, and starts sprinting at full speed. The grimy building walls blend into each other as they make turn after turn in the maze-like complex, not stopping, not even stealing glances over their shoulders to see if they’re being followed. For good measure, Woojin even tightens his grip on Jihoon and phases them through several dead ends, even inside houses, the residents none-the-wiser to two invisible, effectively intangible boys and a dog running like hell across their living spaces.

Finally, Woojin spots a familiar building and slows down, urging Jihoon to a stop as they double back to crouch behind a dumpster. He rests an arm against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. Beside him, Jihoon isn’t doing any better, burying his face against the corgi’s body, both arms wrapped tight around it now that Woojin has let go of his wrist.

“Hey,” mutters Woojin, eyeing the way Jihoon’s arms are quivering from the strain, and he realizes belatedly that Jihoon was carrying the dog the entire time and that must have been difficult with the added exertion of running. Jihoon heaves a deep breath against the corgi’s fur and peeks at Woojin with bright eyes.

“What,” Jihoon grimaces as his voice comes out hoarse and clears his throat. “What did you just do?”

“I saved your ass. More importantly, what did _you_ do? Who were those guys and why were they after you?!” Woojin demands—a little roughly, he realizes, when Jihoon’s arms tighten around the corgi defensively. He slumps, and says in a softer voice, “Sorry. I’m just worried.”

Jihoon eyes him warily, but relaxes his arms with a wince.

“Do you know them? Did they hurt you?” When Jihoon freezes and averts his gaze ( _guiltily!_ Woojin’s instinct of self-preservation screams), a new question dawns on him. “Jihoon… whose dog is that?”

 

“I didn’t steal him,” Jihoon says defiantly, placing Hoon beside him with a gentle pat on the head and paying no heed to Woojin squawking, “You didn’t _what_?!” He glares at the opposite wall in lieu of looking at Woojin and continues, “I just wanted to play with him a little, that’s all.”

“You—Jihoon, you just kidnapped a dog!” Woojin exclaims, covering his mouth and peering around the side of the dumpster to see if anyone heard.

Jihoon huffs. “Technically, we both did it now.”

 _“Park Jihoon_.”

He wilts under the force of Woojin’s chiding demeanor, but clamps down fast on the urge to apologize. “You did help me escape,” he points out, wincing when Woojin’s scowl intensifies.

Hoon lays his head on Jihoon’s lap comfortingly, accepting the fingers brushing down his ears with the relaxed grace only a dog that had allowed himself to be more or less stolen can emulate.

Woojin sighs, seemingly resigned to the situation he’d landed himself in. He leans his back against the wall next to Jihoon and watches him stroke a hand down Hoon’s fluffy back. “It really likes you,” he observes curiously. “Doesn’t look stressed about this whole thing either.”

Jihoon’s hand comes to a stop on Hoon’s neck. “Yeah, about that,” he starts, “I asked Hoon if he wanted to come with me for a while and he said yes.”

“Hoon?” Woojin raises an eyebrow.

Jihoon gestures wordlessly to Hoon, the corgi.

“ _Asked_?”

“I… can talk to animals,” he admits.

Woojin utters a soft 'oh’ and settles into a thoughtful silence. “So the pigeon that attacked me?”

“My fault,” says Jihoon, ducking his head.

“The kitten that tripped me? The scary orange cat?”

He swings an elbow into Woojin’s side at that comment. “Don’t call Gaeul scary,” he scolds. “She’s my friend.”

Woojin just shakes his head and turns to the alley entrance with watchful eyes. Looking at him in this moment, Jihoon feels almost overwhelmed by gratitude, for helping him escape without asking questions, for being in the right place at the right time, for bothering to worry about Jihoon even after being ignored for a week.

“Woojinnie,” he whispers, tugging on the sleeve of Woojin’s shirt. “Thank you.”

Woojin glances at him from the corner of his eyes. “No need. I just happened to be there,” he says seriously. “And I’m glad I was.”

“No, it’s not just that.” Jihoon tugs again at his sleeve more insistently, until Woojin is shifting to face him and they’re staring into each other’s eyes. “I’ve been avoiding you for a while. Sorry, for that, and also for sending my friends to keep you away.”

Woojin nods slowly, eyes hesitant. “Can I ask why?” he asks, after a moment of deliberation.

Jihoon lets out a tense breath that stutters when Woojin takes the hand that had been holding his shirt and encloses it on his own. “Um.” He studies their joined hands, the way they fit together. “I just kind of… realized that I like you a lot. As more than a friend,” Jihoon clarifies, licking his lips nervously, “and it scared me. I was so happy to be with you everyday, and I was afraid of how things would change if you figured it out. But it was wrong of me to avoid you. You’re still my friend, Woojinnie, and I should’ve been more trusting even if it doesn’t turn out well in the end.”

When he looks back up at Woojin, he sees eyes filled with wonder and a fond grin on his lips. Woojin raises their joined hands and presses a light kiss on back of Jihoon’s fingers, and Jihoon doesn’t stop the need to be closer to him, to curl closer into Woojin's side and hide his face in Woojin’s neck. Woojin murmurs, “I like you too,” into his hair and he shivers.

 

Later, Hoon wriggles between them, barking unhappily at being ignored for more than a minute, and Jihoon laughs as he scoops him up into a hug. “Can you believe this,” he murmurs into Hoon’s fur, and it fills up Woojin’s heart with so much warmth.

He thinks, very soon, that Jihoon will remember all about their escape and how they managed to get as far as they did, and Woojin will tell him everything, even the parts about sneaking into class and breaking into stores. And on Monday, they’ll go back to their classes, and catch up in their free time, except now there will be more to each meeting than simply spending time with a friend. He’ll confess that he didn’t actually memorize the names of their classmates. He might even, with Jihoon’s help, get along with the orange tabby that seems to shadow Jihoon’s every step.

But first things first.

“We’re gonna have to turn Hoon over to the police station.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you and ILUSM to my favorite carrotcake for agreeing to beta even though I asked very last minute and then fell asleep afterwards! On that note, I thought it would be a drabble, or at most 1.5k words, but this is what happened.
> 
> Let me know what you think in a comment!
> 
> -
> 
> If anyone wants to join the 2park secret santa, sign-ups are currently ongoing! Check out our [ twitter](https://twitter.com/2prkss) for more details.


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